Stepping farther inside to block his exit, Aina examined him. He’d managed to wrap a towel around his waist. Steam and drops of water clung to his skin, highlighting a few old scars on his chest and shoulders. His nose and mouth were covered with blood from where she’d hit him. As she approached, he backed into the wall, wiping the blood off his face as best he could.

“Why are you here again? Did someone send you after me too?” He shook his head at the dead man on the floor, eyes wide in disbelief. “He worked for our family for a decade.”

“Well, he clearly wasn’t very good at his job.”

She stepped into the shower and cornered him, ready to strike again if he tried to call for security. He was at least a foot taller than her, and she straightened to feel bigger.

“Did you help your brother survive?”

“I have no idea how—”

“Liar.”

Aina pinned him to the wall. He nearly broke out of her grasp, but Kohl had spent the past six years teaching her how to beat people who were bigger than her, and this was no different. She withdrew a dagger and placed its tip at his collarbone.

“You’re going to give me answers. And if I think you’re hiding something, my dagger will show you how I feel about liars.”

It had been a while since she’d allowed anyone to live long enough to witness fear build up in their eyes. If she hadn’t seen so many people at the end of their hope, she might not have noticed it in the first place. But his fear was slow and steady, as if he was trying his best to hide it. His breath grew shallower with each passing second.

“I know you can kill me,” he said in a matter-of-fact tone, his eyes deadening as if he’d long ago accepted his fate. They were the eyes of someone accustomed to threats. “I know what you are. You’re an assassin.” He said her job title with the same air children used when telling ghost stories.

“Good for you. So, how do people with slashed throats get up and walk around? How do I know it was really even him that night? You were in the room with him. Tell me what happened.”

“I’ll tell you what I know,” he said. “Just … let me get dressed, okay?”

“You have two minutes,” she said, pressing her dagger a little more into his skin as a warning before leaving the bathroom.

A minute later, he entered the bedroom and sat on the oversized bed while avoiding her gaze. Now that she didn’t have a knife at his throat, she got a better look at him. The chandelier’s golden light glistened on his wet hair. The sleeves of his mauve-colored blouse were rolled up to his elbows, the color a nice complement to the bronze shade of his skin. His blouse and sleek black pants likely cost more than all the clothes she’d ever owned. His hands curled into fists at his sides. The fear she’d seen in him before was gone, but now he seemed distressed, his eyes downcast.